Bedlam
by Mei.EndofStory
Summary: "The very emphasis of the commandment: Thou shalt not kill, makes it certain that we are descended from an endlessly long chain of generations of murderers, whose love of murder was in their blood as it is perhaps also in ours."- Sigmund Frued.
1. Violent Delights Have Violent Ends

The sun was too bright, glistening off the snowy ground and the cold air was making his fingers grow numb. The walk to school took longer than Jack would have wanted but he couldn't do anything about the piles of white, turning grey on the sidewalk. He blew into his hands and rubbed them together attempting to get the feeling back. When that failed he hugged them under his armpits, shivering as cold fingertips slipped past a hole in his jacket and touched warm skin.

A sudden itch plagued his nose and before he could properly cover it, he sneezed. Red splattered on the front of his jacket and between his fingers. A small groan escaped his lips at the pain. Gingerly he touched his nose, fingers painted red as he pulled his hand back. He pinched his nose quickly, feeling the cartilage crack even more under the pressure. He had to get to school and quickly. For a moment he allowed himself the privilege of cursing his father for breaking it and hurriedly continued walking.

When he finally made it he noticed that there was no one outside, meaning he had missed the starting bell. He took the stairs two at a time and threw open the doors. Stale, heated air greeted him as he stalked down the empty hallway. He entered the boys bathroom and the sight that greeted him wasn't pretty. His mouth and chin were covered in a bright red, a similar color to his mother's lipstick, as blood continued to slip past his fingers from his nose. He let go and the flow grew stronger.

He switched the faucet on, first rinsing his hands then grabbing paper towels and wetting them. He carefully cleaned his face, grimacing as the steady flow made it hard to do so. He ripped off pieces of the paper towel and wadded it up, sticking them up his nose. He almost chuckled at how comical it looked but soon the two white buds turned red. He sighed; apparently he'd have to go to the nurse today.

He left the bathroom and headed down a few more halls before knocking on the door lightly. A gruff 'come in!' was barked so he entered. The nurse looked up from her magazine eyes immediately looking to his nose. He licked his upper lip and cringed as he tasted the familiar metallic substance. She ushered him over to the empty bed before rummaging through the cabinet above the sink. He sat down, watching the elderly woman. Her curly hair was dyed an ungodly red-ish brown and the pink and white scrubs she wore were covered in some outdated cartoon characters.

"Door again?" She asked gruffly.

Jack just nodded his head and she sighed. She slipped latex gloves over her wrinkled hands and pulled the bloody wads out of his nose. The blood was still flowing freshly and she wondered what had really caused this. The old woman had seen a lot in her day and knew that doors didn't _continuously_ break people's noses but kept her mouth in a firm line. Last time she had reported anything she hadn't seen the boy for two weeks and when she did, her eyes didn't miss the fact that the bruises had barely faded from his face.

"Lay back, son."

Jack obeyed like he always did and she brought out cotton swabs and a bottle of alcohol. He closed his eyes, willing himself not to make any noises. The cool, wet swabs met the inside of his nose and he hissed as the fire spread. He bit his tongue and wasn't sure if the blood he tasted was from his nose or from the bite. He laid there for a while longer and soon he felt fresh paper towel wads shoved up his nose. The nurse gently placed a brace on the bridge of it and he opened his eyes, in the background he heard the bell for the end of first period.

"I cleaned it out and stopped the bleeding. The bruising around it shouldn't take too long to heal." She didn't mention the fact that the purple marks around his chin and on his cheek didn't fit with his door story.

Jack just nodded and got off the bed. He made his way towards the door to leave but the nurse grabbed his shoulder, causing him to stop. He looked into her eyes and watched all of the things she wanted to say but couldn't. Finally she let go and his hand reached for the handle. As he turned the nob she began to speak.

"Jack?"

He inclined his head towards her.

"Ju-just be more careful son, okay? Try to stop picking fights with doors, yeah?"

His answer was to softly shut the door behind him, the bell for the start of second period sounding behind the shut door.

* * *

Jack walked down the hall slowly towards his locker. His brown sneakers squeaked and he wondered why he hadn't noticed when he first entered the school. He passed by a janitor, who scowled deeply. When he reached locker number 1003 he twisted the code in without so much as a thought, _79 38 81_. The door swung open, revealing a mess of papers and books. Jack decided he could look for his books later, he needed to get to class. He slammed the locker door harder than needed and made his way to class, when he reached the door a heavy sigh escaped his lips.

Jack ignored the stares he got as he entered second period, he even heard someone gasp. He gave the teacher a knowing look and the portly man nodded, eyes looking concerned, before going back to writing math equations on the board. He took his seat at the back of the class and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and a pencil out of his jacket pocket. He began taking notes, something about Closed and Open Intervals. Soon his notes became doodles and sketches; at first circles and squares but as the class went on they became more detailed. Images of him shooting or stabbing his father to death, he even added his mother crying in the corner.

The bell sounded again and the class packed up their things, shoving them in book bags so they could mingle in the hall for the ten minutes between classes. Jack folded the paper back up and shoved it back into his pocket. He placed his pencil behind his ear and stood to leave. As he entered the hall people stared again, some going quiet as he passed them. He decided to make his way towards the library since his third class was study hall. His walk there was uneventful and it didn't bother him one bit. Jack liked the peace and quiet, he enjoyed the fact that he didn't have any friends, it made life simpler.

* * *

The trudge home was better and worse in some ways for Jack. It was better because the temperature had gone up at least 15 degrees since the morning and Jack could still feel his fingers. It was better because it allowed him to get away from the stare of his fellow classmates as well as the teachers. It was better because now he could go to the small convenient store, buy a pack of cigarettes and chain smoke his way happily into lung cancer. He hoped it would kill him.

But Jack couldn't forget that it was worse as well, he supposed the world worked that way. It was worse because that small convenient store was three miles out of his way. It was worse because his father would probably be at the bar, drinking himself into a stupor and he knew it was too much to ask God that his father die in a car crash-or at the very least be pulled over for drunk driving and arrested. It was worse because his mother would be getting off work, just to work herself into a frantic frenzy about what to make for dinner to please Jack's father. It was worse because he had to go back to all that. It was worse because that was just _'home, sweet, home'_.

* * *

When Jack did finally make it home he noticed his mother's blue Toyota parked in its spot, as well as his father's black, rusting pickup truck. He stood in front of the brick house, finishing up his cigarette, before heading inside. He entered the house quietly as possible, removed his shoes and quickly headed to his room. He breathed a sigh of relief as he shut the door behind him, happy to have not encountered either of his parents. Jack decided a nap was exactly what he needed at the moment as he made his way to his bed. He lay down, stretching comfortably and allowed himself to drift off to sleep.

* * *

Harsh, angry bangs rattled his door and Jack felt as if he had only shut his eyes.

"Come on! Get your ass down stairs! Dinners ready!"

Jack complied quickly as he heard his father's heavy foot steps down the stairs. He reached up rubbing his eyes as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. His fingers brushed his nose and he almost let out a howl of pain. It was a good thing too, because he had forgotten that he had left the brace on, the last thing he needed was his father accusing him of going to the nurse and _'tattling like a child' _as his father put it. He didn't need a reminder of what happened to _'tattle-tales'_.

He dropped the brace to the ground and ran slim fingers through long, curled locks. He shrugged out of his jacket and straightened the old, ugly sweater beneath. As he reached the bottom of the stairs and entered the kitchen he noticed his mother's nervous, twitchy hands setting down a plate of steaks in front of his father. She seated herself on the right side of him and Jack took the seat to the left. His father bowed his head and Jack wanted to snort with amusement as a pray left his lips.

"Dear Father, thank you for this meal and for the income I bring in. We bow our heads to you in prayer. Amen."

"Amen." Jack mumbled along with his mother.

She quickly set to placing potatoes, steamed veggies and steak on her husband's plate, then her sons. Jack kept his hands in his lap until they were all served and his father had reached for his own silverware. Jack's mother was watching her husband intently as he stuck his fork into the meat and cut off a small piece. He placed it in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully before spitting it onto the plate with a disgusted scowl. He reached for his beer and finished it in a few short gulps. Jack's mother was now nervously chewing her bottom lip and Jack himself was twisting his hands in his lap in anticipation.

"That tastes like shit Cindy. I thought I told you to make it right this time."

His mothers head snapped towards the right and the sound of the slap echoed in the air for a few seconds. Jack waited calmly, hoping his father would forget he was even there.

"You stupid bitch! You can't do anything right! I go work 11 hour days and you think this-this _shit_ is okay! Where the fuck does my hard earned money go-huh?"

Jack's mother began to whimper, feebly at first but it steadily grew until it was a full out bawl. Her narrowed shoulders shook from the force and one of her hands remained plastered against her cheek in an attempt to stop the pain. His father stood quickly, knocking the chair behind him over as he began towering of his wife. In the blink of an eye he had grabbed her by her hair, making her scalp sear in pain and lifted her up to eye level with him. Her own chair tumbled over and she wailed again.

"Dan! Please, Dan! Stop!"

"_Shut up_ bitch!"

Jack flinched this time. His mothers head bounced off the wall behind her but the impact had cut her cries short. She lay on her side, curled in a ball and clutching her head. Jack felt his leg jump with nerves and it collided with the underneath of the table. _Fuck_. His father turned towards him. Eyes gleaming something dangerous. Jack stayed still but could feel a sweat break over his brow. His father righted his seat and reached for another beer, using his teeth, he opened it and gulped it down quickly. When he finished he picked up his fork and knife, cutting into the steak and began eating.

Jack's mother recovered after a while and fixed herself to sit back at the table. Jack could see she had bitten her lip, _probably when she hit her head_, and wiped it away with a napkin hurriedly. She looked dazed and in pain but made a show of taking small bites and eating. She apologized profusely to her husband about the quality and told him she would never buy steak from _'Robert's Meat House'_ again. He said it wasn't Robert who had fucked up and left it at that. Jack looked at his silverware that lay untouched. His father had noticed.

"Aren't you going to eat you little bastard?"

Jack shook his head 'no', he wasn't hungry anymore.

* * *

Remember Everyone! Reviews (no matter the content) are a writers best friend!


	2. At One Fell Swoop

Jack glared heatedly at his ceiling, watching the shadows dance across it. He heard another loud groan come from the direction of his parents room and angrily growled. He didn't know exactly what his parents were doing but he was quite sure he had an idea. A disgusted scowl crossed his face. After a few minutes he decided he didn't care if his father beat him, he was going for a walk. He leapt from his bed, making sure not to be noisy and began getting ready.

He stuffed his arms into his old, worn jacket and shoved his cigarettes deep into a pocket. Jack opened his bedroom door cautiously. A sudden crash sounded from his parents' room and it almost made him jump. He waited a few minutes longer before someone behind the door groaned in obvious pain, his _mother_. Taking the stairs two at a time, he reached the bottom and shoved his feet into old sneakers. He made ready to leave out the front door before figuring his father might hear. In a matter of seconds he was out the back, running through the open gate and out onto the street.

The street lights weren't very bright as Jack turned the corner, slowing to a walk. He pulled out his pack and removed one of the sticks. His lighter flickered in his other hand as he brought both closer to his mouth. The smoke filled his lungs, a kind of content feeling, as he strolled down the street. Before long he made it to a small, run down park. The slide was leaning on its side and the swings looked as if they could barely hold up any weight, let alone Jacks.

Bare trees gnarled their way across the area, stretching their clawed branches. The snow covered everything in a white, wet blanket. Jack took another puff, holding it in for a few seconds, then blew out. The smoke hung in the air around his face. He kicked out randomly, snow clinging to his shoe. It melted and seeped into his sneaker, chilling his toes. Today just wasn't his day, not that there was a day that was his, even his birthday was ignored by all.

Jack tucked his free hand under his arm to keep it warm, took another long drag and continued on his way. As before the streets were empty so he took to walking those, at least the city snow plow had removed most of the annoyance. In the dim light he read the street sign, _66th & Jackson_, he was approximately 30 minutes from home now. _'But why stop there?'_ his mind asked. Jack didn't answer but knew he'd have to go back. No matter how much he hated the place, the _company_, he couldn't just leave it behind. Something in his gut told him that it wasn't his time to leave just yet. He dropped the remainder of his cigarette.

While he was lost in thought he hadn't noticed that someone was following him and it was too late, a blade was being pressed against his Adams apple. Jack could smell the man behind him; at least with the _stench_ he hoped it was a man. The blade set comfortably against his neck he noted, not pressed too hard, he could still breathe without being cut.

"Give me all you money." It was definitely a man.

"I haven't gotten any money."

"Don't lie to me you little fucker. I'm going to let you go so you can hand over the cash. Don't even think about running, I'll kill you."

"I wouldn't really mind."

The man let him go with a shove and the knife nicked his neck, it stung as if he had cut himself shaving.

"Smartass I see, how about I cut your tongue out?" Jack didn't say anything.

"I see you're rethinking your previous statement."

"Not really." The man twitched angrily, or maybe he was a drug addict.

"Just hand over the money kid and things won't get ugly."

"I really don't have any money." The man gestured with his knife in a jerky way.

"Empty your pockets."

Jack did as he said, only pulling out his lighter and cigarettes. The man stared at the boys hands and a frown crossed his features. Jack took the time to look away from the knife and at the man's face. _Definitely a junkie_. His eyes were sunk in and his lips were pulled taunt against his teeth. Long, messy hair hung over his ears and around sharp cheek bones. Jack hated to think what was going through the man's mind as black eyes looked into his.

"Look kid, I need the cash, give me any money that you have and I won't hurt you." Jack sighed.

"I really don't have any money; I'm showing you that, this is all I have."

Another jerky twitch.

"Come with me."

"Excuse me?"

The man's eyes were dangerous, "C'me on kid, you sound smart enough, follow me."

Jack really didn't want to but the way he held the knife told him to not argue, there was no point, he stuffed his belongings back in his pocket. The man turned and began walking; obviously Jack would have to follow. They walked in silence but the knife was speaking. _Whispers of deadly intent_. After a few more minutes they reached a large apartment building, it screamed heroin and cocaine. The metal stairs were rickety and Jack felt uncomfortable that the junkie had made him go first.

"Go left." The man commanded as he reached the top step.

Jack did as he was told.

"Go to number 23 B, knock twice."

The rap's against the wood had obviously disturbed whoever was inside because it sounded as if something had been knocked over. Jack tensed slightly as the junkie stepped closer into his personal space. The peephole that was once glowing a soft orange was now black. Jack could almost hear the breathing from the other side.

"Who is it?"

"It's Rob, let me in, I have a _guest_."

The person on the other side slid the lock out of place and the door opened slowly. Jack saw that it was an elderly man with stringy grey hair and a ridiculous beard. His beady blue eyes watched Jack's every movement as he entered the small apartment. On the coffee table lay _spoons, needles, cups of water and tourniquets_, these people were doing heroin. The old man continued to size Jack up.

"Wha'd ya bring 'im here for Rob? He lookin' for a fix?"

"Nahh, I was tryin' to get this kid to cough up his money, but he ain't have any."

"Then why is he here?"

"Thought he could be useful. Wasn't scared at all when I pulled my knife on 'im. By the way, fix me up some White Stuff."

The old man set to doing just that. A seemingly large chunk was placed on a spoon followed by water from an already used syringe. The chunk of heroin dissolved into the water and the old man sucked it all back in. Jack fought his gag reflex; he could see the slightly red twinge to the supposed clear liquid. The junkie, _Rob_, took the needle gratefully as he pulled up his sleeve and grabbed an elastic band from the table. He seated himself on the dirty looking couch and tapped his arm a few times. Jack couldn't look away as the needle slowly pressed into the man's skin. Robs thin thumb pressed the end of the syringe and the liquid disappeared. For a while the junkie didn't move and Jack worried that he might have died but after another five minutes or so he pulled the needle out and dropped it carelessly to the floor, along with the band.

Jack stayed standing by the door.

"Want a hit? Free of charge." The old man asked casually.

"No." Jack knew what heroin did, one hit and you were hooked forever.

"Your loss."

Time continued to drag on slowly and Jack was just itching to smoke.

"Sooo," Rob drawled out, "Why weren't you scared kid? I 'ad a knife to your neck, ya know? Seems pretty stupid to me."

"I wouldn't have cared."

That sent Rob into a fit of laughter. His small, sickly body shook and as the laughs grew to a dangerously high level. _This man's completely mental_. The laughter finally died down into harsh coughs followed by colorful words. Jack almost asked if the man was okay, _almost_.

"Ya know what? I like you kid. You have the perfect attitude. How 'bout I cut you a deal? You work for me and my, uh, _friend_ here and I don't kill ya?"

"There's nothing in it for me."

"Ha! Ahaha! Hoha ah haha!" The junkie wiped tears from his eyes.

"Did ya hear that? Nothing in it for 'im! Haha! Look kid, I'm offering you your life! And all you have to say is, 'there's nothing in it for me'! Haha!"

Jack frowned.

"Okay-haha, okay kid, I'll make the deal better, haha- how about I take you under my wing? Teach you the ropes, I'll even teach you how to use this baby!" He whipped out his knife, "All you have to do is help me bring in profit. I-ah, haven't been too good about it lately. You look a little rough around the edges but hey! I say it's a fair trade!"

Jack didn't look away from the knife.

"So what exactly will I be doing?"

A wicked grin passed over the junkies face.

* * *

When Jack got home it was around 2am and his father had been waiting. The beating that ensued was one he was sure he'd never forget. His father had taken a baseball bat, _his own baseball bat_, to his ribs; one of them had to be broken. When his father had finished he told him to clean up. Jack wasn't sure how long the shower had been but knew by the time he had gotten out that the water was running cold.

Droplets rolled down his neck in icy trails, he wiped them away and the cut forgotten on his neck ached again. Jack stood in front of the mirror for some time, completely naked. He stared at his sharp shoulders atop a slightly broad chest, said chest turned into narrow hips that in turn led to long, thin legs. His arms weren't very toned but they matched the overall scrawny appearance.

Next he took in the finer details, such as the _bruising_. Jack decided there wasn't much to distinguish from, most of his body was in different stages of healing, either deep purples and blues or light greens and yellows. It was disgusting. He hated it. He hated himself. Why couldn't he just stand up to his father? Why did he let him beat him? Jack could stop him, right? _Ha, that'd be the day_. He snorted with amusement, only to cause himself more pain. _Stupid, fucking nose_.

He stopped pondering, wrapped himself in the towel, grabbed his clothes and went to his room. It was cold. The window was open and he hurried to shut it. Goosebumps rose all over his body at the chill. He dropped his dirty clothes on the floor and grabbed a fresh sweat shirt and pants out of the dresser. Slipping them over his cold body he hopped into bed. Even the _sheets_ were cold.

Jack rested his arms behind his head and recapped over the encounter with 'Rob the Junkie'. The whole ordeal still seemed like a dream to him, he had even pinched himself when he had left the apartment, it had hurt. A yawn broke him of his thoughts. Perhaps he was more tired than he thought. _Sleep_. It sounded nice enough. It was definitely what he needed, after all tomorrow was his first day at '_work_'.


	3. Countenance More In Sorrow Than In Anger

"Not like that! 'Ere! Give it back! You hold it like this!" Rob had settled the knife expertly between thin, veiny fingers.

"Hold it like it's a darling companion, hold it like you're scared to let it go. You should be scared to let it go. It's an, ah, _extension_ of yourself boy."

Jack nodded and took the blade back. He caressed it just as Rob had, the handle set into his palm as if it _belonged_ there. He drew it closer to his body and then lashed it out again, Rob laughed joyfully, clapping his hands and giving a hoot. Jack didn't smile but never the less was happy at the junkie's reaction, _he was doing something right_. Jack watched the knife intently as he moved it in his hand, eyes never leaving its deadly grace.

"Haha! Kid, you really are a natural! But stare at it like that any longer and I'm scared to know what your face will look like after a session! Ahaheha!"

A small sense of pride filled him, '_a natural'_.

"C'me on kid, let's go back inside, it's too cold out here."

Jack followed Rob back to his apartment and when they entered the old man was eyeing him suspiciously, the knife still sat in his hand.

"Ya let 'im hold your blade?"

"Yeah! Haha, he's a natural with the beauty!" There was that pride again.

"Fix me up old man! And you boy! C'me sit down!"

Apparently Rob was in a great mood. Jack listened though and took a seat on a god awful armchair next to the couch. It was comfortable despite its terrible appearance. Just like the night before the syringe was used and the spoon looked dirty as well. Jack watched intently as the old man fixed two, his gag reflex not acting up this time. Rob tied off the blood supply in his arm and smacked the veins. He took the syringe gratefully from the old man, who was also tying up his own arm. After a few more seconds of searching for a vein he stuck the needle in but didn't push down.

"Fuck I missed!" He pulled it back out and blood pooled in a little drop.

After another few attempts he was getting careless. The crease in Rob's elbow was covered in little red dots. His hand was shaking and he looked nervous, _wild_ even.

"He-hey! C'me 'er boy. Find a vein will ya? My fucking hands..."

Jack went to him, without telling him that it wasn't his hands that were the problem. Rob handed him over the syringe and tied his other arm. Jack made sure not to touch any of Robs blood, _who knew what disease's he had_, and stuck him. He was surprised when Rob gave a content sigh as he pushed the liquid into his arm. He pulled out the needle carefully and placed it on the table. Blood pooled again as he removed the band from the junkies arm.

Jack sat back down in the chair and began fiddling with the knife. The old man stuck himself and removed the needle in fluid motions as he sat back against the couch.

"Thanks boy." Rob finally muttered.

Jack inclined his head.

"So, ah, tell me something 'bout yourself. Why're ya all _bruised and battered_?"

Jack didn't say anything.

The junkie turned his head towards the boy, it rolled slightly and his eyes looked unfocused.

"C'me on. Who broke that pretty face of yours?"

Jack reached up and tenderly touched his nose, "It's none of your concern."

The chuckle emitted from Rob was dark.

"Fair enough, how about, why'd you decided to learn from me?"

Jack looked down at the knife in his hands.

"So I'll take it you figured helping out a junkie was fair trade for self defense."

It wasn't a question so Jack didn't answer.

* * *

It was late, later than Jack had thought, by the time he had left the apartment. The sun was setting on the winter horizon, gleaming a wonderful orangey red. Jack decided to jog home; he didn't want to think about what would happen to him if he was late for dinner. As he passed the park he noticed a few kids playing, they were ducked behind the fallen equipment and throwing snowballs at each other. They didn't look too young, probably around 8 or 9 years old.

But it wasn't the snowballs that got his attention, it was their laughter. It was carefree, joyous, one little boy in particular was laughing loudest. It sounded familiar to him and he stopped jogging. He watched as the boy picked up a generous sized snowball and threw it at a little girl with brunette pigtails. She smiled and it rivaled the sun in brightness. The giggles continued as they children continued to play.

Before long parents began beckoning at the children, calling them inside for mugs of hot chocolate with marshmallows. All but one had left. The little boy stood, smile slowly fading from his face and Jack watched. In a sudden movement the boy kicked the ground harshly; snow flew up and settled back down just as quick. The little boy noticed Jack after a few more moments, his eyes looking at the bruises. For a second Jack thought the boy was going to run but instead he lifted a tiny hand and touched his own cheek.

A red flush crossed the boys face as he did so and he turned away before plopping on the broken swing set. Somewhere in the back of his mind Jack knew he needed to get home but figured it could wait. Something was drawing him near the boy; something was telling him that they were the same. _Same_. He reached the boys swing in a few short strides and just stood there. The little boy took to scuffing the toes of his shoes on the ground. Jack took the swing next to him, cautiously; it groaned but held his weight surprisingly.

They didn't speak but out of the corner of his eye, Jack could see the boy taking quick glances at him. He finally turned to look at the boy and the sight made him cringe inwardly. The boy's right cheek was a deep purple and his eye was red instead of white. The little boy stared him down, probably taking in his own features, his own _purple_. Jack still didn't speak, _what was he supposed to say? _That everything was going to be okay?_ That was just stupid_.

The little boy spoke up first.

"My name's Henry. What's yours?"

"Jack."

"Jack? I don't like that name. My mommy's boyfriend is named Jack."

"Yeah?" This conversation was already awkward.

"Yeah. I'm going to call you Buck. That's my puppy's name. I picked it out."

"Okay."

"So..." The boy stopped, biting his lip nervously, "So how'd ya get those bruises?"

Jack almost didn't hear the sentence but before he could answer the boy was talking again.

"Did-did you get in trouble? Were you a bad boy too? I was a bad boy, Jack told me so."

Jack didn't say anything.

"Mommy was mad at Jack when he did this. She cried a lot. I don't like to see my mommy cry."

_Me either._

"So what'd you do?"

"I-"

"Henry! Get over here now!"

Jack saw a man yelling from across the street. Henry made a face before standing up.

"That's Jack."

Jack nodded.

"Well I better go... It was going meeting you Buck!"

The little boy bounced away quickly. When he reached the man he was grabbed by his upper arm roughly and shoved inside. The man turned to glare at Jack then followed the little boy. Jack sat on the swing a while longer before decided he was much too late and should have been home long ago. As he left the park he looked at the house the little boy had gone into. The little boys face was pressed against the window and when he saw Jack look he waved happily. Jack waved back before continuing down the street. That was the last time he saw Henry.

* * *

"You good for nothing piece of _shit_!" His father's boot collided with his ribs, if it hadn't been broken the night before it was now.

"First you run off last night! Then I get a call from school saying you didn't go in! Then you come home late for dinner! I don't know what kind of game you're playing but it stops now!" The next kick hit him in the shin.

Pain radiated through Jacks body, he saw stars behind his closed lids. Jack let out a tiny whimper and he _hated_ it. He hated giving his father any sort of satisfaction. He could hear his mother crying in the background, broken sobs. The beating continued and his father's choice of words only grew more colorful. A swift kick to the side of his head and vomit rushed from between clenched teeth.

"_Dan_! _Stop_! You're going to _kill_ him!"

Jack barely opened his eyes but he could see two black figures fighting.

"_Cindy_! What did I tell you about getting in the way?"

There was a loud crash and his mother cried out.

"You stupid, useless _bitch_!"

Jack saw the larger shadow reach down and smack the smaller, cowering one. He moved his arm out, trying to reach it, to _protect_ it but his body just refused to do as he wanted. Another smack. Another. _Another_. The large shadow moved to him again, if Jack was able to say for sure he would, that it was grinning. Not the face but the entire shadow _itself_. He felt the kick, the dull thump against his back but he didn't feel the pain from it.

"You piece of _shit_! Look at what you made me do! Do you like me hurting your mother? Huh?"

Jack tried to say 'no'. He tried to force his lips into moving but they refused, much like the rest of his body. The shadow moved away from his line of sight after a few more kicks and from what he could hear it was opening a bottle far off. The smaller shadow was crawling towards him; soft, cold fingers pressed against his temple. Wet tears dropped onto his cheeks but he couldn't hear the crying if it was. His head was absolutely _swimming_.

Jack tried to stay awake, he tried to move, he really _tried_ but the pain in his head was too much. His eyes slowly began to shut and a comforting blackness took over.

* * *

When Jack woke up he was in the same position that he had been in falling unconscious. His entire body was radiating off a dull throb and when he tried to move it turned into a racing fire. Slowly, _very slowly_, but surely he lifted himself off the ground and began walking towards the stairs. He struggled to breathe and he felt himself slump forwards into a wall. The sound brought his mother running and she put her hands under his arm in an attempt to help him.

"You need to take a shower Jack."

He didn't even nod. They continued walking and Jack was, for the first time in a long time, thankful for his mother. As they passed the din Jack heard his father's loud snores over late night television. They climbed the stairs carefully and he hissed every so often. When they finally reached the bathroom his mother set him down on the toilet. Jack still felt woozy and his body swayed, crashing into the side of the sink. His mother fretted before wetting a cloth with cool water and dropped to her knees in front of him; she began cleaning his face, ridding it of the blood and vomit.

Through hazy eyes he noticed his mother sporting a new bruise. His fingers reached out to touch it but missed and instead he slumped forward into her. She wrapped her arms around him, hugging him to her chest tightly. She cried for what seemed like hours to Jack, her thin fingers stroking his hair and back. After some time she took him by the shoulders and pushed him back. He could barely make out the small smile she had.

"Jack... My precious Jack."

She sniffed and leaned forward, pressing warm lips to his forehead. She doused the cloth again and continued what she had started. Soon his face was clean but he still felt dirty.

"Jack. Come on my darling. You need to shower. It'll help clear your head."

His mother helped him undress and she bit her lip at the state of his body. He leaned against the sink now, as she started the shower and turned the warm water high. He tried to stand but it was difficult so she helped him in. He sat on the bottom of the shower, shaking from the heat on his cold body. His mother grabbed the wash cloth and began rinsing his body. The soap and water felt _good_ after a while and he rested his head against his mothers shoulder. Her upper body was soaked through but she seemed not to care.

When she felt he was clean enough she shut the water off and helped him out, wrapping a towel around his body tightly. She took him to his room and placed him on his bed. Jacks head was a bit clearer but he was still feeling sick by all the movement. He laid back as his mother left to get his clothes and let his eyes shut. It seemed like forever passed but his mother was back and she was helping him into a pair of sweatpants and a tee shirt.

He also felt her slip his feet into a pair of socks. She tucked him in carefully and stayed sitting on his bed. Her fingers stroked the hair out of his face and she was smiling, somewhat bitter sweet. The gentle hands continued and he was being lulled into a sleep. His eyelids continued to flicker before he finally gave into the sand mans request. His body just couldn't fight it any longer. He felt those warm lips press against his forehead again.

"Goodnight my darling."

* * *

Hey! Reviews are lovely! But that's besides the point, I just want to thank 'HoistTheColours' for her very wonderful reviews! She's the author of 'Clockwork' and other wonderous Joker fanfiction so check her stuff out!


	4. As Pure As The Driven Snow

_Someone was screaming _Jack knew that much. Loud, anguished shrieks that seemed to never end. The reprieve between each one was less frequent. Jack struggled against the blankets that wrapped around his body but it was difficult. He was still in pain, though he couldn't remember _why_. He tried to bring his arms up but his shoulders were stiff, he tried to kick his legs out but they were dead weight, he tried to move his head but he saw stars.

The screaming had to stop, it just _had too_. It was driving him _insane_. The volume ricocheted inside his skull, it echoed in parts of his mind that he didn't even _know_ he had. The screaming continued and continued and continued and _continued_. He wanted to cry out, to scream back that it needed to stop. Somewhere in his head a voice called out to him. It was a soft voice, maybe a woman's, and it tried calming him.

_"Don't worry."_ The voice flitted through.

_"Shh, calm yourself, everything will be okay."_

A particularly loud scream broke through the voice, "_No_! Please, just_ stop_!"

The voice in his head took shape in front of him, it _was_ a woman. She smiled down at him, leaning forward and brushed hair out to his eyes. Her fingers cupped his cheeks, as if they were _lovers_. Jack tried to shake off her hand but it only served to make his stomach clench painfully at the jerky movement. Her eyes looked down sadly at him, almost _disappointed_ it seemed. He stopped trying to struggle, it was only causing him more pain.

_"Jack, you need to be strong okay?"_

He didn't nod but she took his silence as an okay. Her hand left his face and she stood up, stalking towards the door. Her hand grabbed the handle and she looked over her shoulder at him, he just stared at her. As she threw open the door the screams attacked him, consumed him, took him over. The hall was too bright to look at but when his eyes adjusted he noticed that the woman was gone, in her place was his father. That's when he realised the screams were coming from his own mouth.

* * *

"Ya look like shit." Apparently Rob was good at stating the obvious.

Jack just took another hit of his cigarette as reply.

"So, ah, what _happened_?" Jack glared angrily.

"Okay, okay, I take it you don't want to talk about it." That was an understatement if one had even been made.

"But ya know kid, I'm not teaching you how to use a knife for nothing." Jack sighed.

Rob took a hit of his own cigarette and held the smoke in for a few moments, thoughtfully, before blowing it out. It was still cold outside, even with the sun blaring its golden color down on the two. They sat on the old rickety stairs, smoking quietly now. Below them was a courtyard. It wasn't anything special but there were kids outside playing. They threw snowballs and it reminded Jack of the little boy, _Henry_. He caught himself wondering if the little boy had gotten beaten like he had when he went home, _hopefully not_.

Jack took in another puff, anger, _red and hot_, filling him. His head was pounding, his body was aching and for the love of _God_ he was in the foulest of moods. His father had almost _killed_ him. _Almost_ being the key word, though Jack couldn't understand why his father didn't just finish him off already. _Too much of a coward_, his mind supplied. Yeah, that was it. His father beat on him because he knew, just _knew_ Jack couldn't do anything back. Wouldn't dare, wouldn't even _dream_ of it.

_And why the fuck not?_ Jack growled angrily. Why didn't he just stick a knife deep between his father's ribs? Why didn't he slit his throat while he slept? Why didn't he provoke him, then stab him to death when he least expected it? Why didn't he? _Why didn't he_?

"Ya know, if your face stays like that, the wind will change and it'll get stuck."

Jack took another hit and the fire burnt his fingers. He hadn't realised it was done, when did that happen? Hadn't he just lit it? He threw it down and it went out with a small sizzle in the snow. He put his abused fingers in the snow as well, to cool off. Rob chuckled next to him and threw his own down. Jack felt a hand squeeze his shoulder but he didn't look at Rob. The junkie sighed as if expecting it.

"C'me on kid, let's get inside before one of us freezes to death."

* * *

When they went inside Jack was surprised to see a woman in there. Her back was turned to them but her long black hair was dirty and she was thin, _sickly thin_. She turned at the sound of the door closing but her eyes looked light years away. A needle was sticking out of her pale skin.

"Amy! I didn't know you were stopping by! I would have cleaned up." Jack noticed Rob slick his hair back.

"I didn't tell you on purpose."

"Ahh." Rob let his hand drop.

"So what brings you here? Besides the drugs." The woman rolled her eyes.

"Got off work early today. Figured I was welcome."

"You know _you _are!" Rob took a seat on the couch next to her and Jack took his seat.

"So who's the stud?" Jack felt a heat rise on his neck.

"'Im? That's the kid." She frowned.

"And what's he doing here? I sure hope you're not selling to him Robert."

"No no no!" Rob put his hands up, "I'm just teaching the kid a few things. Looks like he needs help don't he?"

Her lips were pressed into a firm line but she didn't say anything. Her eyes roamed over his face and Jack felt himself grow redder. He wasn't used to having woman look at him this closely and she was pretty. Sickly looking but one could still see that she was, her nose was slender and hooked down with just the right curve. Her cheekbones were high and distinguished. _She must have been something before the drugs_.

She turned away from him.

"I'm telling you Robert. If I find out you're selling to a kid, I'll rat you out."

"I'm not stupid! Jeez Amy!" He threw his hands up in the air.

"Just letting you know."

Jack was uncomfortable for the rest of the time Amy was there. She glanced at him every so often but didn't ask him anything. Her and Rob's conversation was uneventful for the most part. She only got mad when he let it slip that 'the kid' was going to help him sell.

"You fucking bastard!"

"Look! The kid knows what he's getting into! I'm teaching him everything I know! You should see it! He's a natural with my baby!"

"I don't care if he's a _God_ at it! You're setting him up for some nasty shit and I don't like it one bit!"

She left not long after that and it was just the two of them. The old man wasn't even there.

"Jezz, fucking women." Rob muttered.

"Why's she like that? She uses doesn't she? Seems a bit hypocritical to me." Jack supplied.

"Look, don't talk when you don't know anything kid."

Jack didn't press the matter anymore.

* * *

When Jack left he noticed the woman was sitting on the stairs, _waiting_ for him. He sat down next to her and pulled out his pack, taking two out and offering her one. She took it and set it between thin lips. He lit hers first then his own. He inhaled slowly, waiting for her to say something but she didn't. They sat in silence and Jack thought that maybe it was stupid to have sat down, maybe he should have just walked away.

She shivered, tightening her jacket around her shoulders. She took a small puff and blew it out her nose. Jack opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off.

"Save it, I know I'm a hypocrite. Save it for someone who cares."

"Then-"

"Look, you don't know what you're doing. How old are you anyway?"

"Fift-"

She burst out laughing, her shoulders shook and it took some time for her to let up.

"Ha! Fifteen! You're still a child."

"No, I'm-"

"Don't. You're a child. I'm thirty five. Trust me kid. You don't know what you're doing."

"Don't treat me like a baby!" Jack shouted and stood.

She eyed him quietly before looking back forward. Jack was absolutely _seething_. Who was _she_ to treat him like that?

"Sit down kid, you don't need to cause a scene."

He huffed angrily but sat down, saying it was pride that kept him from storming away.

"Listen, I'm not a child. I know what I'm doing. I don't need some _strung out, junkie_ telling me how to live my life, when you obviously can't do so yourself."

"You're right about one thing kid." Jack gave her an annoyed stare.

"I _am_ a strung out junkie, but hear me out. You don't know what you're doing. I'm going to tell you a story and you're going to sit there and listen." Jack glared.

"Right?" She was staring at him again so he nodded to save face.

"Good. Might want to make yourself comfortable. It's kinda long."

* * *

"So there was once a lovely girl, she had everything she wanted in life. Wonderful parents, wonderful sister, even wonderful _grandparents_. The works. She was rich, well her family was anyway. She went to a private school, ya know the ones with uniforms and the name that made it all the better? Yeah, you know what I mean. One day she decided to be dangerous. Her friends and her skipped school and went downtown for the day. They went to the movies, a rated R one even though they were only sixteen, a smile and a little cleavage went a long way for the teen at the ticket counter. It was something gorey, ya know, fake blood spurting everywhere, heads rolling off bodies. I'm not sure the name now, but it was chessy. The girls squealed and hid behind their fingers. The lovely girl was no different. Once it was done they were hungry so they went to one of those old fashioned joints."

She glanced at Jack to make sure he was listening.

"The girls were horrified by the food on the menu, not one _salad _was listed but being dangerous was their plan so they ate burgers and fries and malts, strawberry ones, the whole nine yards and it was delicious. They savored every bite but when they were done a few of them left to the bathroom, the lovely girl among them, and threw it all back up. No one likes fat girls right? They left after one of the waitresses came in and heard them. They didn't care though. _She _was fat. Maybe she should try it sometime, that's what they giggled as they left, I'm sure she heard them. Anyway, they were walking down the street, adrenaline pumping when a red car pulled up next to them. There were a few guys in it and they were smiling nicely. They asked if any of the girls wanted a ride. The girls were nervous, weren't they dangerous enough already that day?"

She paused to take a hit and breathed it out slowly.

"Anyway, most of the girls thought that it was but two of them wanted more danger. The lovely girl and her best friend. They waved to their friends goodbye and got in the car. As the car drove away their stomachs twisted in excitement. Whoah, they just couldn't believe what they were doing. I mean, what would they're _prefect _parents say? It was thrilling for the both of them. There were three guys in the car and they introduced themselves. Chris, Mark and Andy. The lovely girl was enchanted as soon as Mark smiled at her. She giggled behind her tiny hands at every joke he said and her best friend seemed to like Chris. The guys asked them their ages and they lied, saying they were nineteen. They were nineteen as well. It was like they were _destined _to meet, at least that's what Mark said and the lovely girl agreed quickly. They asked the girls if they'd like to go to a party with them and they shared an excited glance."

Another pause and she finished the cigarette, tossing it into the snow beside her. Jack finished his but lit another.

"May I?" She asked.

He handed her one.

"Thanks."

He lit it and she inhaled, grimacing slightly. Jack didn't comment.

"So I'll skip the boring part and get straight to the party, okay?"

Jack just waited.

"Right. So the girls were excited. They had never been to a party with alcohol before, let alone boys. Their parents were just like that. When they pulled up it was dark outside. The lovely girl checked her phone, nine missed calls from her friends and parents but she ignored it. No one was going to put a damper on her high. No one. They went inside and people were already standing around drinking and listening to loud music. Some kind of rap but it was full of cussing. The girls weren't used to that, the radio didn't play it. They decided they liked it. The best friend was led away by Chris and she smiled at the lovely girl to show she was fine. Mark had gone to get her a drink so she waited where she stood. Someone complimented her skirt and she thanked her. She hadn't realised the girl was being sarcastic. When Mark came back she was relieved and took the drink from his hand happily. She finished it quickly and Mark had chuckled. He got her another and before she knew it she was drunk. She stumbled into a table and laughed, she saw her best friend making out with that Chris guy. She laughed again. Everything was just so _fucking funny_."

Her next breath came out ragged and her eyes were closed. Jack waited for her to go on.

"_Everything_." She stressed, Jack nodded.

"The lovely girl glanced at her phone out of habit and noticed the missed calls had almost doubled, seventeen and there were voice mails. She asked Mark if they could go somewhere quiet so she could listen to them. Mark led them upstairs and she pressed the voice mail button. Her parents sounded worried, _scared_ even but she brushed it off as she laid down. There was nothing wrong with her, she felt amazing. Nothing could make this go away, she'd kill them. Mark just sat next to her and she wondered why he didn't look as happy as she felt, _everyone _should be as happy as she was. She pulled him down and one thing led to another. Mark took her virginity that night. When she woke up the next morning she had a splitting head ache and decided maybe drinking wasn't for her. She looked to her left and noticed that Mark wasn't their but her best friend was. She was still asleep and the lovely girl didn't want to wake her just yet. So she left her there and went down stairs."

Jack coughed so she stopped for a moment.

"You okay?" She looked concerned.

"Yeah."

"Good. So back to it- sorry it's so long, by the way."

"It's fine."

"Okay, right. So she went down stairs and saw Mark and Chris and Andy. They were seated around the kitchen table and they looked tired, falling asleep right over their cereal, and that's when she noticed the syringes. She thought she knew them better than to do heroin, okay so she didn't really know them at all, but she had never _ever _known anyone who did it. It startled her. She went and poked Mark and he smiled up at her, a lazy, attractive grin. Then he offered her a fix. At first she said no but after a little persuasion, _very little_, I'll add, she allowed him to tighten the band around her arm and fix her a hit. To her delight she didn't even cry out when he stuck her. It took a few seconds but when the drug did take affect she felt like she was flying. Her body was on cloud nine. It was wonderful. It was amazing. It was _heavenly_."

She cleared her throat as she got a faraway look in her eyes.

"Life after that had changed for her. Everything she did was to get her next fix. Her parents pretended not to notice how she changed. Even her best friend pretended. It was fine with her; she didn't hang out with them anymore anyway. They just wouldn't understand her. No one did, except Mark. He was there for her. Every step of the way. He was her savior and the drug was her God. Two years passed that way and when she turned eighteen she moved out. Her parents begged her to stay, told her they'd do anything to help her but she didn't want that. Not at all. She moved in with Mark and all was good, that is until she became pregnant. That's when her world came crashing down, she then realised she would need to stop using. And quickly. Problem was that she was too hooked. She just couldn't. The pains were terrible, she was itchy, she was cold, she was desperate. She shot up anyway and lost the baby."

For a moment it seemed as though she was going to cry but she didn't she just asked him for another cigarette and carried on.

"That was the end of heaven and the start of hell. She began prostitution for her God. That's all that mattered to her anymore and she was alone in the world."

"What happened to Mark?"

"He died. Over dose."

Jack waited for a while as she finished the cigarette. The cold was pressing now and he had a feeling the outside wasn't the only reason. Jack didn't know what to say so he asked the obvious.

"Are you that lovely girl?"

She stared at him for a while before sighing.

"No."

Jack was confused but before he could ask her any other question she stood up and brushed snow off her pants. She gave Jack a side glance and shook her head. She turned back towards the apartment but stopped. Her hand rested against the handle and she sighed heavily. Jack could hear it from his spot on the stairs. When she looked back at him, her eyes seemed determined.

"That's not me anymore."


	5. Something Wicked This Way Comes

"'_It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way'_, would anyone care to explain the opening of the 'Tale of Two Cities'? Anyone at all?"

Jack didn't particularly _like _English with Mr. Reed. The room was boring and ugly to simply put it and the teacher was a reflection of the design. And not only that but he had a tendency to pick on people when they preferred to just blend into the class. He was fond of calling on Jack for his opinion, mostly when the literature was dark or morbid and it was starting to get under his skin.

"Come on. Anyone at all? Yes, Miss Williams." A petite blonde had raised her hand.

"Yeah, well, I think-"

_She thinks?_

"-Like totally setting us up, ya know? I mean even the title does that, so it's pretty much using a bunch of big words that contradict each other and yeah, like, I mean, Dickens is dead right? So we can't for sure say that what I'm saying is right, but I'd bet it is."

"Yes, okay. Good Miss Williams. That is what Dickens is trying to portray in this when he-"

_And there was Mr. Reed off on another tangent as if the students really cared_. Jack didn't, how was English supposed to help him do anything in life? He could speak just fine and Jack had no intentions on becoming a _writer_; that was for girls and men with too much time on their hands and not enough to do. His teacher droned on, still discussing what Dickens _meant_ as if he had personally known the man.

But back to what Jack wanted to do with his life, well on that note he wasn't _sure_. Something exciting, something to keep his interests, something with a _rush_. Yeah, it sounded nice. He didn't really want to be helping Rob for the rest of his, _Rob's _life. Though he had to admit that the lessons he learned from him were much better than anything his teachers had ever taught him, at least he could _use_ the lessons.

Thinking of Rob provoked thoughts of _Amy_. The pretty, strung out, heroin addict. He'd been thinking about her a lot as of late. Her story, though very _cliché_, had struck a small nerve, he wasn't completely _heartless_. He wondered if she was getting her next fix or if she was selling herself out to get the money for it _or_ thinking of him as much as he thought about her. _That's just stupid_, Jack reminded himself.

"'_It is a far, far better thing that I do than I have ever done and a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known'_, Jack would you care to explain this?"

And there was Mr. Reed to rip him of his peaceful thoughts.

"Ah."

"Come on Jack, everyone takes part in class talks, you know that."

_Bastard_.

"In literal terms he's saying that he's happy to die, simply because it's the right and most _noble_ thing to do."

"And why is that Jack?"

Mr. Reed was grinding his _nerves_.

"He's got nothing in life, he's worthless. In a way it's the only _redeemable_ thing he can do, he's just pointless through the rest of the story, causing problems when there shouldn't be any."

Mr. Reed _tisked_ him. _Tisked_. Mr. Reed wasn't happy with what he had said. Mr. Reed could go _die_, after all, it was the only thing he could do with his own _pointless_ life.

"Jack, don't you understand the _passion_ and _emotion_ behind this? Carton dies a brave death and his last thoughts show that and-"

_And blah, blah, fucking blah_. Jack thought Carton was a mess of a man. The guy does so much wrong then takes the easy way out by letting himself be killed. He didn't even kill himself, didn't take his own life. If he really was feeling as sorry as Mr. Reed was making him out to then just like a samurai does would have been the _brave_ thing to do. Class seemed to drone on and on and _on_. When the bell finally rand signalling the end of school, Jack was more than happy to grab his things and leave.

* * *

"Hey! Hey fag! Yeah you! Come here!" Jack chose to ignore the guys yelling at him.

"_Faggot_! Hey don't be rude!" One of them grabbed Jack by his left should and spun him around.

"Hey, we just wanted to _talk_ fag." Jack glared heatedly.

"So, word on the street is you're fucking men for drugs. Well, the other way around really, taking it up the _ass_ just to get your fix. You're pretty pathetic. Though I guess it can't be helped right? I mean you learned whoring from your _mother_-"

The next words out of the other teen's mouth went unheard. Red, hot fury filled his mind and white noise filled his ears. His whole body twitched and his hands shook. This, this _Bastard_ dared to say anything against his mother. The woman who did everything for him, the one who tried to stand up to his father while he was down. Jack's body felt weighed down but that wasn't going to stop him from _killing_ this guy.

"Security! Someone get the school security guard _now_!"

Why was someone calling him? Jack didn't know. He hadn't even touched the guy yet. _Hands_. Hands were pulling at his clothes, his face, his hair. Lots of hands but all he focused on was the anger, the _rush_. Something collided with the side of his head and it allowed his mind to clear. That's when he realised that the teen was below him and his hands were around his neck. He let go quickly and someone grabbed him from behind, dragging him back. The teen didn't move but his chest rose and fell with light breath, Jack had hoped he'd killed him.

* * *

"Do you understand what you did son? You put Sam in the hospital. This is a serious criminal offense. If his family presses charges..."

The cop talking to him was gruff, scruffy and old. Jack didn't really care what he had to say, Sam had deserved exactly what he did to him. The _bastard_ had called his mother a whore. Jack had explained what had happened, the only thing the cop said was that it didn't matter, Jack should have better _control_.

"Look son, if they don't press charges your slate is clean but if they do, well your entire world will be turned upside down."

"He deserved it."

"Dammit son! You don't understand do you?"

"I understand. It was still ah, worth _it_."

"Okay, good for you, it was well worth it and you feel better now but it's still wrong. Son, if you go to jail you can kiss your ass goodbye. I'm going to go talk the parents out of pressing anything if they are. Just sit tight."

Jack did just that. He sat there and mulled over what he had done but the only thing he could think about was the fact that he hadn't actually killed the guy. Maybe he should _fix_ that problem. Time seemed to move by slowly, like cold syrup dripping from a bottle. Another cop came and checked on him a few times, giving him water and finally coffee when Jack looked tired.

"I have to go to the bathroom." Jack hadn't planned on asking but his bladder was full and the cup of coffee before him made it that much worse.

"Alright, go out the door, turn left and it's the third door on your right."

"Thanks."

The hall was crowded when Jack stepped out of the interrogation room, cops and lawyers hustled around, folders piled beneath arms and worry lines etched between brows. When he got to the bathroom it was wonderful relief. His bladder felt empty and he took a deep breathe. He stared at himself in the mirror while he lathered soap between his hands. Most of the bruises were gone and only hints of green covered his cheeks. His nose still looking fresh though, probably because that _Sam_ guy had managed at least one hit.

Jack shut off the water and dried his hands on his jeans. The walk back was much the same as the walk away from the room, people were still busy and Jack was still tired. He opened the door to the interrogation room and _froze_. His father was talking to a cop heatedly about something, probably about the fight and Jack felt his knees shake a bit. His father turned to him, lips curled back in distaste, before going back to what he was saying.

"So no charges then right?"

"None." The cop said.

"Very well. I'll deal with him at home."

* * *

Jack was discharged quickly and before he knew it he was in his father's truck. He almost wished he was still in the station. At least whatever they did to him wouldn't be as bad as what his father would do. The ride was quiet, his father did not speak and that scared him even more. When his father yelled he knew what to expect, he knew that the words were only the start and he could brace himself for the blows but the silence left him with nothing.

* * *

"You _stupid_, _pathetic_, _worthless boy_!" His father shrieked, sending another kick at him.

Jack covered his face the best he could and his shoulder got the blow. An incredible pain shot through him, his arm was absolutely on _fire_. Surely he had never been put in this much pain and remembered it. His father sent another kick, causing him to roll over onto the abused shoulder. _White hot pain_. It clouded his mind and he couldn't think, couldn't see; Jack felt as if he was nothing, an empty shell that could only feel pain.

"I can't believe you, you worthless boy! Why would you do that!"

It wasn't a question but Jack felt himself answering despite his better judgement.

"Mom..."

"Don't even boy! You're mother is just as useless and pathetic as _you_!"

Jack's father reached down and grabbed his son by the hair, he gave it a sharp yank and Jack cried out. The pain in his scalp was at least giving him a chance to focus on something other than his arm. Jack was righted on his feet and maybe to someone looking in on the two it seemed as though a father was helping his son after a fight but they would have been wrong. Jack winced as his shoulder was jostled and it took all he had not to just let himself fall to the ground.

His father reached forward, placed a hand on Jacks bad shoulder to steady him and with his other threw a fist into his son's stomach. The reaction was instant. A small dry heavy followed by everything Jack had eaten during the day. His fathers face grew disgusted as his son repeatedly threw up on his boots. His doubled-over form finally dropped to the ground and he laid face first in his own vomit.

Jack's father sent one more kick before grumbling loudly and left the room.

Jack saw stars.

Jack was alone.

Jack was cold.

Jack smelled horrid.

Jack felt pain.

Jack felt weak.

Jack felt angry.

Jack felt nothing.


	6. Bated Breath

"Get your ass up!"

Jack felt sick, there was a painful throbbing throughout his whole body and his head was pounding something vicious. He curled into himself more, wrapping weak arms around his broken body.

"Did you hear me boy! I said get your ass up!"

More pain, so much more. He could feel his rib crack and suddenly it became very hard to breath. Coughing, deep coughing. Struggling, harsh struggling, struggling for one more breath. Blood, he could taste it. Jack wasn't foreign to the taste of blood. His nose had been broken enough times, teeth biting into dry lips, he'd tasted his fare share of blood but this was different. It tasted different. It tasted serious, tasted like his life. Bitter, disgusting and gross.

Hands wrenched him upwards and he coughed again, blood dribbling down his chin. Gods, it was so _painful_. The hands let go quickly and his knees allowed him to collapse. His landing jostled his side and he yelled out, a blood curdling scream, cut short by an equally bloody cough. Jack's fingers reached up, gripping his hair and he yanked harshly. Jack didn't stop. He just kept pulling, this pain kept the pain in his side from over powering him.

Hair. His hair. Jack was pulling his hair out. Curled locks stuck, twisted around his fingers and he reached up for more. Bloody finger tips. His scalp was bleeding. Jack was bleeding everywhere.

"_Jesus Christ_." His father whispered.

Jesus Christ? Jack wanted to laugh. He wanted to belt out a loud chorus from his chest and he did just that. Jack laughed and tears poured down his face. Laughing, it had never felt so good. Never had hurt so much either. He was in ecstasy. Where the fuck was this _God_? He definitely wasn't with Jack at this moment. Where was his Guardian Angel? Jack felt like he was tearing apart and it had never felt so good.

Sirens. Loud sirens. They were filling his head, the sound bouncing around his brain. Was there a cop near by? Was that an ambulance? Heavy footfalls echoed in his ears. Jack continued to laugh. Jack continued to die. It was just his luck to hear false hope. Jack was barely aware.

* * *

_Beep. _

_Beeeep._

_Beeeeeep._

Jack groaned loudly, flinging his arm up over his eyes. The lights in his house were brighter than he remembered. He tried to take a beep breath and choked, coughing painfully. Hands quickly came up and tugged at the tube between his lips. Panic, frenzied panic. What was _this_? Something was lodged into his throat and he coughed again. The beeping sound became more wild and his eyes darted to the machine. It looked like a heart monitor. Jack's eyes swiveled forward as the door opened to reveal a nurse. She quick walked to his side, hushing him and losing his grip on the tube in his throat.

"Jack, dear, calm down please," She said kindly, "Can you do that for me? Please?"

Jack let his hands drop down and he nodded slightly.

"Good Jack," She said, checking his vitals, "Are you feeling okay? Just nod for me honey."

Jack just started at her. He had so many questions. Where was he? How'd he get here? What was wrong with him? He continued to stare quietly at her and she looked down at him, smiling.

"I'm sure you have a lot of questions." She voiced, reading his mind.

"Well you're in the Hospital, I'm sure you've realized that," Jack nodded slowly, "Good, good. Do you remember what happened to you?"

Jack shook his head, it had been his father but he didn't know details. The nurse 'tsked' and sat herself in the chair next to his bed when she was sure everything was okay. Her eyes held a pity that Jack had seen many times but they also looked caring, gentle.

"Well honey, you were pretty bad when the ambulance brought you in. You had a broken rib, which punctured your left lung and a lot of internal bleeding. We also noticed many other fractures and breaks, many in different healing processes. Now, your father told us you have a knack for getting into fights and that you came home like this. Is that true?"

Jack remained still. His father had almost killed him! Jack's hate for the man slowly began to consume him and as the rage built up the urge to laugh came back. Before the nurse could react Jack reached up and yanked the tubing from his throat. The coppery taste of blood settled on his tongue and he started laughing, shaking his head in disbelief. So much pain.

The nurse jumped to her feet and pressed a button behind the bed for help. She laid her hands against the sides of his head and tried to calm him. She whispered comforting words as Jack continued to laugh. It was low at first but slowly it raised in volume. The nurse looked down feebly at the young boy, tears threatened to prickle in her eyes.

"Jack, honey," She started, "Who did this to you?"

Her firm tone caught his attention and his loud laughing died to light, breathy chuckles.

"My father!" He spat and started laughing again.

The nurse smoothed his hair as another entered the room. She took one look at the two and exited quickly, coming back in under 2 minutes with a needle in hand. She walked closer, giving a questioning look before injecting the medicine into the IV drip beside Jack's bed. She gave a small smile to the first nurse before making her way from the room. Jack's laughter began to quell. Shaky breaths was all he managed and the nurse sighed.

"What're you doin' to meh?" Jack asked sluggishly.

"Giving you something to calm you down honey. Don't worry, you'll be fine shortly. It's going to all be okay." She whispered soothingly.

Jack wanted to believe her, he really did. She seemed like a very nice person, kind and gentle. He wanted to take her words to heart but he just couldn't find it in himself to believe her.

* * *

"So you're saying that your father did this to you? He's the one who beat you?" Jack nodded his head.

The man speaking to him was elderly, mustache and beard the perfect salt and pepper mix. His eyes were light blue and Jack briefly pictured himself as an old man. He wondered if he would have such a graceful appearance. The man sighed heavily and folded ancient fingers in his lap. That probably wasn't a good sign.

"Son, I would love to believe you, honest I would but even your mother backed up your fathers story." Jack flinched, frown spreading across his lips.

"My _mo-ther_?" He grunted, how dare that _bitch_.

Jack had never done a thing wrong to his mother. He _defended _her the best he could, always. Hell he had even beat a boy within an _inch_ of his death to defend her honor. How could she turn on him? Her only son? Was that woman such a _coward_? Could she not see that with his physical evidence and her verbal confirmation that they could put his father behind bars? That they would be safe.

"Yes. You're mother." The man paused, glancing at the clock on the wall.

Jack went to pull his hair in frustration only to growl. He had forgotten he'd been restrained. White cuffs hung tightly to his wrists and he thrashed his legs in anger. The elderly man grimaced, shoving his seat back and stood up. Jack stopped his struggle and locked his dark eyes with light ones. He could tell the man was uncomfortable now, eyes glancing at the door every few seconds.

"Jack. I am here to inform you that due to certain instance's you're parent's have decided to send you to psychiatric hospital."

Silence. Absolute silence. Jack didn't dare breath. _Psychiatric Hospital_? The man had to be kidding. He had entered the hospital room, seemingly cheery and questioned him about his attack and it still didn't matter? Not even a _bit_? This parent's had already made their minds up, so why did this man patronize him?

_"They think you're crazy. They don't believe you."_ The little voice inside of him whispered.

"It's only for a week. Don't look so sad Jack. You will check out clear. Nothing to worry about..."


End file.
